


7 Minutes And Two Years In Heaven

by imwiththeunicorn (tiatodd)



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Drinking, Explicit Language, F/M, Smoking, embarrassingly visible scottish accent, like this is embarrassing, written hella years ago
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-06
Updated: 2014-09-06
Packaged: 2018-02-16 09:22:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2264358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiatodd/pseuds/imwiththeunicorn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The smutty tale of the relationship between a gorgeous Scot and yourself, dear reader, starting with a slightly-drunken makeout in a closet at a party.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 7 Minutes in Heaven

**Author's Note:**

> This is a collection of works that got booted off of deviantArt for their explicit content. They were beloved by many and I'm not sure all of them are here, but these are the ones I managed to save as word documents. Written a while back, so it's not my best writing, and I can't stress enough how sorry I am for actually writing out his Scottish accent. To those of you older readers from dA, welcome! Sorry it took so long to follow through with posting them here! But yes, once again, here (most of them) are. Please enjoy.

“Seven minutes _where?_ ”  
Alfred simply smiled expectantly, holding out a hand. The music was loud, but you had actually heard him correctly, and he knew this.  
“Alfred, you must be drunk if you think I’m going into any sketchy closet with some stranger chosen by pure chance.”  
“It’s not chance, it’s fate!” Alfred encouraged, ever the optimist. “You could meet the love of your life in that closet.”  
You rolled your eyes, following him to the semi-circle of sofa strewn with empty cans and bottles and buzzed partygoers, and sat next to Antonio. “I’ll watch but I’m not participating.”  
This remark was immediately met with groans and appeals of “Come on, it’ll be fun!”  
“Try it once,” Alfred proposed, straddling a plastic chair in the center of attention, “and if you don’t like it, I’ll take ya home.”  
“To my place,” you specified.  
“Yes, to your place,” he chuckled, reaching for a pink, plastic bowl by Francis’s feet. He shook out the yellow, greasy crumbs onto the floor and offered it to you. “Okay, put somethin’ in there.”  
Sighing, you slipped off the red-white-and-blue rave kandi Alfred had given you at the beginning of the night. As the bowl was passed around, it filled up with various trinkets until it came back to Al, who pocketed his keys and placed his Captain America lanyard into the mix. “You first, Artie.”  
“Awh, why can’t I go first?” you groaned, eager to be done with this.  
“’Ang on, don’ start withou’ me,” interrupted Arthur’s redheaded brother as he entered the room. He placed a lit fag in his mouth and reached around behind his head to unclasp a silver chain from which dangled a small crucifix. He placed it in the bowl and nudged Arthur’s leg, grunting forcefully and sprawling himself out lazily on the end of the sofa when his blond brother begrudged to budge over, nearly forced into Francis’s lap.  
His iris blue shirt was unbuttoned all the way down to the fourth button, which struck you as a bit immodest and highly distracting. You watched his freckled cheeks hollow out as he took a long drag and removed the white stick with his index and middle finger. The area quickly filled with the musty, synthetic smell of cigarette smoke. “Carry on,” he prompted, legs spread casually and cigarette arm slung over the back of the sofa.  
The game still started with Arthur, Alfred a bit too distracted by the Scotsman to re-assign the bowl. He withdrew from the bowl a little purple bow and received a death glare from Vash as he escorted the 14-year-old to the closet. You knew Arthur would just feel completely awkward, and then proceed to tell the girl all about his imaginary friends, and all the while Lily was dead drunk and fantasizing about all the things she would do to Arthur if she were only a bit bolder.  
Francis was the next to draw, and Arthur looked about to be sick when the drunken Frenchman withdrew his ornate silver ring.  
A warning of “Only seven minutes, Francis!” from Alfred followed the two into the closet, and he started the timer with a look of absolute glee.  
From the sounds of it, Arthur spent the first five minutes frantically rejecting and avoiding the advances of the other man; but in the last two minutes there was a thud, a chuckle, and a “mmph!” and then silence. Well, silence until Arthur’s eager moans sparked some laughter from the group. Without warning, Alfred opened the door at the seven-minute mark to find Francis and a shirtless Arthur snogging desperately on the floor.  
“Wh--! Close the bloody door! Francis, stop,” he added to the blond man nibbling on his neck.  
“Sorry, Artie. Seven minutes are up.”  
Every seven minutes seemed to take longer and longer, and all the moaning didn’t help. The more time went by, the more smoke clouded up the room, though once in awhile Arthur’s brother would actually take a little break from smoking. Francis could not keep his hands off of the poor blushing man, and you found yourself complimenting stealing Alfred’s keys to either drive yourself away or offer them some privacy.  
What’s worse is that for a lot of the time, you found yourself gazing distractedly at the exposed bit of the redheaded stranger’s chest. What was his name again? Oh right it was A—those legs were spread so far apart, and those jeans were pretty tight in the first place. You soon grew jealous of the orange tip on his lips. When he laughed it sounded so…thick, and somehow dirty. Perhaps that last adjective could be attributed to the fact he was laughing at the thuds and moans coming from the closet. In any case, it made you squirm.  
You weren’t aware how focused you were until the sound of your name snapped you out of your stupor. “Huh, what?”  
Alfred raised an eyebrow at you, holding out a stopwatch. “Distracted? Take the timer, Sam got me.”  
“Oh. Yeah. Right.”  
The two left for the closet and you started the timer as soon as the door shut. There were the awkward, muffled sounds of Alfred trying to start up a conversation. Sam snapped at him over and over, possibly sitting in the very corner of the closet at this point.  
“Tsundere,” Kiku muttered, snuggling up to the large-breasted girl whom he had been fortunate enough to end up in the closet with.  
Sam gave in a lot sooner than Arthur had with Francis, but you paid little mind, focused again on the smoking Adonis across the room. Yes, as cliché as it was, you were seriously comparing his flawlessness to that of a god.  
As soon as he heard the timer, Sam busted out of the closet, red and flustered and matching up buttons with the wrong buttonholes with a grinning, giggling Alfred at his heels. “C’mon, Sam, just a little longer—“  
“S-seven minutes is seven minutes! God…”  
“All right, your turn!” Alfred laughed, picking up the bowl off his seat and offering it to you. There were only a few items left, and no one had picked you yet. Maybe you would pick yourself! Hopefully that was allowed…  
You dipped your hand in, without looking, and touched a thin, firm thread with the tip of your finger. Not your bracelet. But when you reached around to find your trinket, Alfred scolded you.  
“Hey, no. First thing you touch is yours!”  
It suddenly occurred to you that the chain belonged to a cross necklace.  
Your eyes widened and you drew it out, heart stomach aflutter. “Uh…”  
“Oh, no…” Arthur groaned. “I apologize in advance for Aly.”  
“Dunnae call me Aleh,” he grunted, standing. As he did, Arthur swiped something from his back pocket. The redhead reached back around with fire in his eyes and smacked his brother upside the head, snatching back the pack of cigarettes and shoving them into his back pocket.  
“Aly. Alistair, yes, that’s it,” you said with a lightheaded nod. He stood with a lopsided smile and shoved his hands into his pockets, removing one once he reached the door to open it for you.  
Your heart nearly punched you in the chest with the click of the doorhandle. The room was completely dark, save for the low glowing tip of Alistair’s cigarette. “Here, sorry ‘bout tha’.” The smoldering tip flew to the side and you heard him stub it out on the wall.  
“H-hi, it’s nice to officially meet you,” you stumbled, hating yourself for being his nervous. “I’m—“  
“Ah know who y’are,” he said casually. The sound of his voice, his sexy, rough, Scottish brogue was the only sense in the room, and it made you whimper. He chuckled. “Bit nervous, are ye?”  
You nodded, then realized he couldn’t see you. “Yes, a little…”  
“Well we don’ have much time to waste, seven minutes isn’ a lot.” Your head buzzed from the proposition and it took a good several seconds for your brain to catch up with the sensation of his warm, strong hand on your back after it grazed your side, leaving behind tingles. His lips touched your eyebrow, your cheek, and finally the corner of your lips and then he kissed you, fisting his other hand in your hair while the one at your back pressed you into him. Your knees buckled and you whined high in your throat. He was supporting all your weight now.  
As he backed up against the wall (and you were stumbling to get back on your own wobbly legs), your eyes adjusted to the dark and you could see the long, black lashes tracing his closed eyes. You melted like butter against his body and hooked your arms behind his neck, fussing tentatively with the back of his hair.  
“Mmh, don’ be afreed to pull, lassie. Ahmnae fragile.”  
You took the invitation with vigorous desire, tugging his red hair back and plunging your tongue into his mouth. He played right along, bracing you tightly to his chest with both arms wrapped around your back, his tongue tasting of alcohol and stale cigarettes as it ravished your mouth. His hands scraped down your sides and he pulled your shirt up and over your head. You followed along, fidgeting messily with the buttons on his shirt. He chuckled and kissed your cheek, taking over while you satisfied yourself with kissing his neck, biting and sucking gently.  
“Whatted I say? ‘M not fragile.” He pulled you swiftly to his bare chest again and you took a deep breath, sinking your teeth into the side of his neck. “Ach…yes, ah…ohhh yes…”  
His moans spurred you on along with the steady rise and fall of his chest. You did your work on his neck and his fingers danced surely and patiently on your bare back. Your own hands ran down over his chest and his belly and when your fingers came into contact with the trail of hair below his navel you whimpered wickedly, sliding your lips up behind his ear. His breath caught and he pushed out a short exhale, fingers faltering on your waist…but only for a moment. With one hand clamped around your jaw he smashed his lips back over yours, his other hand pushing and kneading at one of your breasts. The hand around your jaw left to join its brother and you keened aloud, aware that you were both slipping to the floor with you on top of him.  
You spanned your thighs out across his hips, biting your lip and then his. Alistair rolled his hips and growled; you nearly choked a moan but held it back instead, trying to keep from being the loudest couple to play.  
From Alistair’s next actions, you could swear he had understood this goal and was now going to try to ruin it. Hands firmly grasping you behind the knees, he sat right up with no effort, tucked his legs and pushed you back and suddenly he was above you, groin pressed hard against yours while he bit and licked and kissed your lips and your neck and your chest. The straps of your bra slid down off your shoulders and your breasts were exposed to this man in the dark, and _boy_ were you glad of it. You would never have known how to even wish for the pleasures his tongue and teeth stirred in you, all the while leaving you panting and keening.  
“Mm, haha, ya like that, aye?” he nearly purred as his lips continued to raise goosebumps and his hands gripped you bruisingly in multiple locations. Once in awhile he would rock his hips forward, sending a shock of pleasure into you enough to make you gasp for the air that had abandoned both your lungs and your diaphragm.  
“H-ah, Alistair…ohh…” you sighed, combing his hair back and pulling, kissing his lips hard and panting, tightening your thighs around him because it felt so good and you wanted more, right here, in this closet. You wanted him to take you. Your hands clutched him all over; his muscular shoulders; his shoulderblades; the slick contours of his back; his clothed, _gloriously_ firm ass.  
“Tell me…” Those words were all growl and no voice; all growl with accent. “What is et ya wan’ me t’ dae te ya?”  
You couldn’t but moan in reply and he unbuttoned and unzipped your jeans, shoving a hand down the front and beginning to pet. You cried aloud.  
“Tell me…what ya wan’…” His fingers moved quickly, unforgiving as they made you pant into hyperventilation. “Every dir’y thought ye’ve got on yer mind…an’ I’ll gie it to ya…”  
The door shot open, light nearly blinding you. “Time’s--! Oh…”  
You couldn’t tell whether the stares bothered you or not, and you didn’t have time to figure it out because Alistair had already pulled you to your feet and swept you away from the closet and semi-circle of stunned players. You clutched your bra to your chest, keeping your flushed face pointed down.  
“Hah, ye’ve got a pure reddener,” your partner chuckled, one arm held tightly around your waist. He kissed your cheek, lips lingering, and nibbled at your cheekbone. “Ye wan’ a finish this upstairs?”  
Your eyes practically _begged_ him, which was a bad idea because the moment you took your eyes away from your path, you stumbled. He tightened his hold on you to keep you from falling and chuckled breathily, easily lifting you into his arms as he carried you bridal-style up a carpet staircase.


	2. Loud

He kicked open the nearest door at the top of the stairs and jetted you into the bed, closing the door behind the two of you. It was a nice bed, with wooden posts and a headboard, and you tried to remember whose house this was as Alistair crawled playfully toward you across the mattress. You giggled when he tugged you under him by the ankle and kissed your neck. “Wh-who’s room is this?”  
“Dinnae ken, but whit’s it matter? People have sex in strangers’ rooms aw th’ time at parties. Weel, the ones ahv ben tae.” His teeth grazed a particularly sensitive part of your neck and you shivered, your whole body heating up.  
“Right. We’re…having sex.”  
“Whit did’ja think, we were gonny cuddle?”  
“Well I…nnh, that tickles…y-you were just so blunt about it, I didn’t really expect…”  
He shut you up with his lips, masterfully controlling the speed of the kiss to the point where just closed lips on lips became the most sensual thing. He pressed kisses down along your jaw and under your chin and gripped your thighs, guiding your legs around him as his lips made acquaintance with your collarbone. You ran an encouraging hand through the back of his fiery hair, a little dazed that this was happening.  
“Oh, nnh…I…Al-Alistair, did you lock the door?”  
“Whit for?” he groaned, cupping your breasts in his hands and kissing along the edge of your bra cups. You let out an embarrassingly needy whimper.  
“N-nn stop for a sec,” you breathed, stumbling to the door to lock it. You heard his impatient sigh and turned around to see him lounging on his back, legs wide open, green eyes bored with you. It took all your restraint not to launch yourself at his delectable, bare torso like a starving predator. At the same time, the heart thudding in your chest kept you anchored at the spot. It was one or the other; attack, or remain a horny statue.  
An approving grunt of surprise followed your collision with the waiting man’s body, and his hands were all over your back, his legs tangling with yours. He nearly tore your bra off you. The seam at the crotch of your pants pulled taught in just the right way and you bucked against his thigh, fingers curling into his hair and into the bed sheets. You were on top, but he was certainly still dominating, from the tongue plundering your mouth to the way his hands directed your motions.  
“Och, I wan’ tae fuck ye raw,” he sighed almost lovingly, and though this sort of bluntness so early on would have deterred you were you in bed with anyone else, something about his accent made you actually _want_ for him to say the rudest things to you. He pressed his hips against yours, which he held firmly in his strong hands, and you leaned down to nuzzle and bite at his neck. Each time you bit he would kick his hips up involuntarily, grunting out harsh sounds of pleasured approval. After the events of this night, you would swear that his sounds alone had simply melted your jeans right off your body.  
Somehow, in a flushed flurry of pleasure and hands bruising your arms, you ended up underneath him and everything started to calm down. He was hovering inches above you, body radiating heat. The panting began to slow down in each of you, and he tilted your head up by the chin until your eyes locked with his. The deep, powerful green within them made you go completely weak.  
You waited.  
“What—mmfh!”  
He chuckled, clearly getting a thrill out of cutting you off like this. His tongue snaked up alongside yours and then quickly slipped under and to the other side, then back down until the tips touched. Your thighs tensed. He brought his lips to the shell of your ear, voice low and clear. “Ye like it when ah kiss ye like ‘at?”  
“Yes,” you hissed, arching your back. He chuckled low in his throat and placed a hand into one of yours, entwining his fingers into yours.  
“Shood ah show ya whit else ah can do weth me tongue?”  
Every single sensitive part of your body tingled at once.  
Eyes half closed and a smirk on his face, Alistair parted his lips to display the shape of a clover formed with the tip of his tongue. He made a quick show of how easily he could manipulate the muscle before he slipped it between your lips again.  
You moaned, sighed, keened, lapped desperately at the writhing tongue in your mouth that tasted so bitter and yet so delicious. The fingers of Alistair’s other hand laced themselves into your others, and he now hand you pinned, rocking his body forward as he brought you to embarrassingly high levels of pleasure with his tongue.  
You knew exactly where this was going the moment his lips left yours, tongue tracing intricate patterns on your neck before it slipped around one of your nipples. He stayed there and sucked for a bit, bringing a high whine out of you, and then licked down your belly, speed decreasing greatly as he came to your hips. You wriggled, breathing hard, and he chuckled, placing a kiss right above your panties before he pulled them down with his teeth.  
“Mmmh!” He was pulling them down much too slowly for your taste, and when you looked down he had on a cheeky smirk, eyes taunting you knowingly. You breathed heavy, controlled breaths, trying to figure out how to calm your frantic heart as he heat of his breath caressed the intimate place between your legs. A series of embarrassing squeaks and whimpers slid out of your throat with your anticipation, and finally you felt his hot, wet tongue between your sensitive folds. You moaned a jumbled mush of what could have been his name.  
His chuckle vibrated through you and his tongue began to completely undo you. It flexed with as much control as he had over his fingers, but with unrestrained fluidity. Alistair’s tongue twisted, flexed, writhed inside of you with such speed and control it struck you as unnatural. Deliciously, wickedly unnatural.  
His rough hands lifted your hips just a fraction and you were struck with a fresh wave of sensation, moaning and wriggling and practically hyperventilating. He moaned into you words you couldn’t hear, but they got you going anyway, and you _knew_ you were going to come way sooner than you wanted to. “Alis—Alistair, slow down…ah!”  
You felt him smirk as his lips played along, moaned desperately as they closed around your clit and he sucked.  
“Oh _god,_ Alistair!”  
He moaned softly, slipping his tongue in and out of you, picking up speed. You twisted and moaned, fisted your fingers into his hair, rocked your hips and cried out, “Al _istaaair_ I’m gonna come!”  
At this declaration his lips parted from yours and he pushed your hips roughly down to the mattress, holding them there despite your distressed writhing. “No’ quite yet, dear.”  
“Alistair!” you squeaked, reaching down to finish yourself off. He grabbed your wrist and pinned it down above your hand, doing the same with the other. You raised your hips and he shifted both your wrists into one hand, using the other to hold you down. He wedged one knee between both of yours to keep your legs apart. “Alistair, let me--!”  
“You don’ wan’ thes?” he said, shoving his thumb into the brim of his pants and dragging them down to expose himself to you. Your heart choked you. “An’ ah know ya do.”  
You moaned and arched your back, spreading your legs wantonly for him. “Yes, nnh…w-wait, shouldn’t we…?”  
“Whit?”  
“Shouldn’t we use…you know…a condom?”  
He grunted and kissed your neck, reminding you of just how aroused you were, just how eager you were for him to just get inside you already. “Nah, they’re wee bit small fer me.”  
 _Red flag._ “That’s…ah, that’s a myth.”  
“D’ye wan’ me tae fuck ye’ er no’?” His grip tightened on your wrist and he held down your hips once again, the heat of his palm so tantalizingly close to your aroused sex. He pressed his chest down on yours and bowed his head, his soft, warm cheek brushing yours. His cross earring glinted in your vision along with the silver stud just above that, and his matching ear cuff. Just the sight of the silver jewelry made you want to have this man even more than you’d wanted him before.  
“Ah wan’,” he growled into your ear, breath hot and heavy, “tae feel yer hot, tight, drippin’ cunt aroun’ me. I wan’ a feel you tighten around my throbbing cock an’ ah wan’ ya ta scream my name like et’s th’ last theng tha’ can save ye.”  
“Oh, god…” you moaned, feeling your words deep in your chest. “D-do it, please!”  
“Cannae hear ye, lassie. Whit was ‘at?”  
“Do it, fuck me!”  
“Louder!” he commanded.  
“Fucking _put your damn cock inside me!_ ” you shouted, and he complied before the last syllable left your lips, shoving quickly into your tight heat. You hissed as he filled you up, stretched you tight. Your mouth opened wide but no sound escaped, and you could hear Alistair’s halted, hiccupped breathing as he waited “patiently” for you to adjust. Without sign or warning he gripped your thighs tightly and rocked in and out of you, eyes closed reverently.  
“Ach, oh yes…yes…” His mouth hung open, tongue flexing within the fence of his lower teeth. “Unh, yes…”  
Your breath came out quickly, shallowly. The stinging pain from his initial entry was now replaced with burning pleasure. Every second, you felt you were on the cusp of orgasm, and he had barely begun.  
His rhythm picked up, hands gripping you tighter. Fisting your fingers into the sheets, you slipped a leg over his shoulder, allowing him to penetrate you deeper. Both of you groaned and his thrusts became somewhat erratic. Hisses and whispers seeped through his teeth. You slammed your head back against the used pillows and shut your eyes tightly, intensifying the pleasure shooting through every vein.  
Alistair’s breathy panting picked up into vocal interjections and he slipped your leg off his shoulder, gripping both of your thighs tightly. “Wrap’m aroun’ me,” he instructed, and your legs hugged his torso tightly.  
“Ah! Ah, Alistair…”  
He lifted you at the waist and you bent forward, wrapping your arms around his neck and breathing hotly into it. A strangled moan escaped you as you sank down on his cock, teased by new sensations. “Ahm…hngh…gonna make ye come…until ye cannae draw breath…” He lifted to his knees and in an awkward moment, you felt the cool wooden headboard against your bare back. He hitched your knees higher up his sides and held you against the wood, slamming into you as though he meant to break you. “OH, ah!” he moaned, reaching one hand past you to grip the top of the headboard. This gave more swing to his thrusts and he hit you at a slightly different angle, grunts building into open cries of pleasure. Face red and hot, you clung to his chest, squeezing your legs tightly around him as he bucked upward into you. The back of your hips hit the headboard rhythmically and now both his hands were holding on to it, leaving you suspended in the air by only his hips and the headboard.  
Panting, you watched his abs flex with each thrust, his pearly skin gleaming with sweat. You felt so dizzy and lightheaded, unable to think, and you raked your nails down his back with every intention of making him bleed. Your teeth chewed into his shoulder and he cried out.  
“FUCK! Yes, do tha’ again!” You complied, biting harder this time, taking as much of his shoulder into your mouth as you could fit. “Aagh!”  
He thrust into you hard, with a growl, buried nearly to the hilt inside of you. “Whoa, oh! Alihs-- _ohhhh_.”  
And by this point, you were certain he was trying to out-moan you, shouting in pleasure with every thrust. The sound penetrated your ears, almost deafeningly as his mouth was right there beside your face. It intensified every feeling, and untied your every inhibition.  
“Auch, ah my god, ah! Ah!” He shouted and swore, growling jumbled things into your ear that you couldn’t make out, but you figured they were fucking _filthy._ “Ach, god, yes! Yes!”  
“Ah, Alistair, I’m--!” Your voice came out as a breathy squeak. “I’m--!”  
“Fackin’ do it, then!” he shouted, breathing hard and ragged. “Come, ya le’l slut!”  
“Oh, AH!” Your body buzzed with pure, unfiltered pleasure and you clenched around him, the pressure in your lower stomach shattering into a million burning bubbles. You squeezed and bucked and his thrusts grew quicker and shallower, his head tipped back while his hands found your hips again, almost crushing them.  
“Ach, YES! OH! _YES! YESSSS!” He drove himself deep into you as he climaxed, panting loudly and squeezing your hips about as hard as he could without breaking something. You squirmed and winced, still coming down from your orgasm.  
He fell backward, going completely limp, and you fell on top of him with just as much bonelessness. “Nh, oh, Alistair…”  
“Righ’, where’s me fags?” He lifted you off of him and you sat up, limp, and watched him grab the cigarettes and lighter out of his jeans before pulling them back on, nothing underneath. He hung his head off the end of the bed and lit up, blowing smoke toward the door.  
“That was…” you breathed, scrunching your knees up and leaning against the headboard. “That was…that was amazing.”  
“Och, aye, it was gud.” He took another puff, filling the room with the scent. Then he lifted his head, perched up on one elbow. “Ye wan’ a drag?”_


	3. Obligatory Spanking

Three weeks later, you and Alfred were at Gilbert’s favorite bar with the group; and the group was Gilbert, Antonio, and Francis. You felt a little out-of-place at McLean’s, since the usual night passed with your roommate Alfred were usually spent in front of the TV. It had been awhile since you had gone out, excepting that party three weeks ago.  
Where you had met and shagged the man of your dreams and luckily not gotten pregnant. It was the dream scenario, and to be honest, you hadn’t wanted to come out tonight, because absolutely nothing could be more ideal than what had happened at that party. And you just knew you would always hold out hope for running into Alistair Kirkland again.  
You sighed and gave Alfred the look, the I’m-so-dead-bored-let’s-go-home look, but he didn’t get it; he was too busy making eyes at the waitress across the room.  
“I see zat look,” said Gilbert, startling you. He took a sip of his beer and continued. “Zat’s ze ‘I’m-so-dead-bored-let’s-go-home’ look. You don’t get to have zat look when you are with ze awesome—wait for it—me.”  
“Look, Gil, it was really nice of you to invite us out.” You heaved a tired sigh and looked down at the ring-shaped stains on the table. “I’m just…tired. Sorry to be such a bummer.”  
“Hey.” He set his glass down, a wicked smile crossing his face. “I know somesing zat will cheer you up.”  
“Gil, I’m not playing one of your pick-up games.”  
“Does ze name ‘Alistair Kirkland’ mean somesing to you?”  
You gave him a sideways look. “Did I hear you right?”  
“So you remember him? Good, so does my headboard.” He gave a dirty chuckle and took a drink. “Did you know you zere is a crack in it now?”  
You blushed, hard. “I didn’t know. And I didn’t know it was your bed, I’m so sorry…”  
“It’s fine, you don’t vant to know what Francis and Arthur did to the sheets last time!”  
“Ew. Okay, focus. What about Alistair?”  
“Vhat if I told you,” he said suspensefully, leaning across the table, “zat he’s in zis bar, right now, and if you asked him to he vould villingly take you into the back room for a quickie?”  
“Wh--! I…what?” You took a breath and exhaled, giving Gilbert a glare. “Yeah, well, then you’d be lying. It’s very cruel to tease a girl about something like that, you know.”  
“Oho, vell maybe you should check behind ze bar before you start calling me a liar, Hawkeye.”  
Your eyes looked over Gilbert’s shoulder, full of hope, and behold, they fell upon the redheaded bartender working his ass off for far too many customers. It was _him._ The cross earrings, second piercing, ear cuff on the left ear; those green eyes you could see even from this far away; the adorable freckles all over his nose and cheeks and forehead. Everything else in the bar dimmed and blurred in your sight, all noise muffled, and your heart raced.  
“And now,” said Gilbert, standing and offering you a hand. Robotically, you stood from the booth and Gilbert grabbed Francis by the shoulder. “It is time to be ze best vingman ever, because it is time for not one, but two, _ja, zwei,_ pick-ups. Both of you are getting laid tonight, so help me Gott.”  
“Gilbert, non, I am dating Arthur…”  
“Oh please. He said you were ‘taking a break.’ Accept that you’ve been dumped and let’s play my favorite game…” He walked to the bar behind both of you, giving Francis an extra push toward a pretty brunette in a very short skirt. “Hey, haaave you met Francis?”  
He hadn’t seen you yet. You could run! Wait, why did you want to run? Oh, yes. Because you’d had a one-night-stand with this man three weeks ago, and he hadn’t even seemed interested back then. Your heart choked you, made it difficult to move, to think…he was so close but his back was still turned, and then Gilbert said, “Hey, Aly! How have you been?”  
“Gil, ahv telt ya no’ tae call me th—“ He had turned to look at the man addressing him but his green eyes met you instead, and widened. “Oh, et’s you…” His mouth was parted in shock, just enough to betray the glint of a silver ball resting on the middle of his tongue.  
“I…yes. It’s me,” you confirmed awkwardly, throat feeling all giggly and face turning scarlet. “You remember me?”  
“How cood ah forget?”  
Oh.  
“Look, ahm…ahm a bit shorthanded tonigh’ sae ah cannae talk, but if you’ll stick around…”  
“Oh, I…yeah,” you said, unable to push away the smile spreading on your face. “Yeah, sure thing.”

\--

“So…this is your place,” you admired, not really taking anything in. There were walls. A floor. A ceiling. A hallway. Carpet. Whatever. You just wanted to see his bedroom.  
Or the sofa, if he was as eager as you were.  
And it seemed like he was, when upon closing and latching the door behind him, he took you roughly by the wrist and pulled you to his chest, descending his lips upon yours.  
“Mh!” you sighed, kissing right back. He wasted no time in getting his tongue into your mouth, and something metallic clicked against your top incisors. Your eyes widened. “Mmh, when’d you get that?”  
“Ah, thes?” He pressed his tongue to the roof of your mouth and slid it back, the little metal ball tickling the ridge. You shivered, letting out an odd whimper. “Got et aboot a week ago. D’ye like et?”  
By way of response, you squirmed and looped your arms around his neck, kissing him fiercely. He chuckled into your mouth and kissed back, the taste of his tongue familiar but with a new, very exciting feature that you were eager to try out.  
His tongue left your mouth and he pressed the stud underneath your chin, drawing it up along your jaw. Your voice slid up a couple octaves and he nipped you just behind the ear, whispering, “Dae ya min’ when ah licked you until ye were _quiverin’_ under me tongue?”  
You whined in the back of your throat and nodded.  
“Ye wan’ me tae do et again?” His whisper became rougher and he nipped at your earlobe. You could only clutch onto his shoulders and moan as you imagined all the things he would do to you with that tongue stud. “Cannae hear ye, lassie.”  
“Oh, yesss…”  
“’Yes’ whit? Whit dae ye wan’ me tae do t’ ya?”  
You flushed bright red. He was going to make you say it? “L-lick m…I-I can’t…”  
“Ya don’ wan’ et, then?”  
“No, I do! Alistair…nnh…”  
He bit your lower lip and looked at you expectantly, raising one thick eyebrow in amusement. His tongue snuck out and traced your lower lip, at the same time his hands slipped down below the brim of your jeans. “Tell. Me.”  
You whimpered, knees buckling. You were practically swimming in your panties at this point and so you really, _really_ needed it. “Just…ghhh, do it, Alistair, please! Put your tongue inside me, lick me ‘til I come!” Blushing at your own words, you listened to the heartbeat in your ears as Alistair smirked and sank slowly to his knees. In one move he pulled down your clothes, brought your knees over his shoulders, and pushed on your stomach so that you leaned back against the wall with which your head collided. “Ow, ah…”  
Your pain immediately vanished the moment you felt that cold metal ball touch the top of your clit, and you shivered. The piercing swirled around that most sensitive bunch of nerves as Alistair’s warm, wet tongue made love to you. You let your mouth fall open, breath coming out ragged, and ran your hands back through his red locks, tugging lightly.  
He kissed you, slipping his tongue through your folds and repeating the same tantalizing moves he had shone to your mouth. You locked your ankles behind his back, rocking your hips and moaning, tugging his head forward. “Ohhh!”  
He moaned in response, tongue stud vibrating with the sound, and your breath caught in your throat. With one hand he held your hips, and with the other, he added to this artistic stimulation. His tongue made room for his fingers, which stroked you slowly, delicately, sliding through your slick heat and stimulating you further. Tongue and fingers working together, Alistair closed his eyes and switched between nuzzling and licking. Between his drawn-out, exaggerated moans, you could hear the wet, lewd clicking sounds of his fingers at play.  
His tongue folded around your clit and flexed, the round piece of jewelry taking you by surprise this time. “Gah! A-Alistair…” His name came out as a whisp of breath. You were quickly losing it. Heat and arousal wrestled in your lower stomach. Fingers buried in his hair, you pulled back and groaned when two of his fingers penetrated you. “Alistair, I’m so close! Make me come already!”  
“Alrigh’, calm down!” he growled, the command out of place in words but the thick vibration of his voice just spurred you closer to climax. As though he knew _exactly_ what would satisfy you, he plunged his tongue into you and twisted it sharply, using his fingers to tweak and squeeze your clit.  
That actually did it. You tumbled into release, clenching up and bucking your hips as you moaned and whined. With a thud, your hands released his hair and flew against the wall behind you, like you had been struck by a blow.  
“H-ah…ah…I r-really like the tongue ring,” you panted, voice quavering. “I _really._ Like the tongue ring.”  
He eased you off his shoulders and set you on the entryway carpet, licking his fingers clean with a crooked smile, eyes laughing. “Glad tae hear it. Now are ye ready fer me tae fuck ya ‘tel ya cannae walk?”  
That was all the warning he gave before dropping his trousers and taking you right there.  
\--  
It was nearly seven in the morning. You lied in Alistair’s bed, wearing only his shirt and a groggy disposition. He was in the shower, and had not invited you to join…so you were currently debating whether it would be sexy or creepy to go join him anyway.  
Probably creepy. You’d play it safe.  
You considered going back to sleep, but you kind of wanted to see him walk out of that bathroom in nothing but a towel. His naked body was already becoming an addiction. And speaking of addiction, you glanced over at the open, nearly-empty pack of Marlboro cigarettes on the end table for about the twentieth time in two minutes. He looked so sexy when he smoked; it was so wrong. It was so wrong! Politically incorrect, taboo, physically harmful.  
But it was so. Hot.  
Absently, you picked up the box and counted six smokes. You closed it and turned it on its side, reading the warning printed in red.  
“Oi, pit ‘em down!” he barked from the bathroom doorway, startling you so the pack tumbled from your hands to the floor.  
“I—sorry! I was just looking,” you apologized, staring at his bare, freckled chest and shoulders. You shivered. His hair was even redder wet. It was perfectly shocking. And from the size of the towel around his waist, you suspected he had stolen it from a hotel. “Just…uh…looking…” Whimper.  
He sighed and walked over to the bed, fixing the towel on his hips. “Pick et up.”  
You bent over the edge of the bed compliantly and extended your arm, blushing to realize your bare ass was now completely exposed and _smack!_  
“Ah! H-hey!”  
“Tha’ll teach ye ta mess weth a man’s smokes.”  
You sat right back down on the bed and handed him the pack, which he snatched up greedily. You took this as a challenge, and snatched them right back.  
He glared dangerously, looking actually malevolent. “Dinnae wan’ a dae tha’, love.”  
“And why not?” you teased, suddenly regretting your actions.  
He showed you _exactly_ why you didnae wan’ a do tha’.  
Gripping your shoulder and spinning you around, he drew his hand back and slapped you, twice, in quick succession. You cried out each time and he grabbed you by your forearm, spinning you back around to face him before he took back the smokes. “Dae no’ do tha’ again,” he said sternly while your arm bruised in his grip.  
Your ass stung, and was probably as red as your face. The two of you kneeled on the bed, staring at each other for a tense moment, and he dropped his gaze, loosening the grip on your wrist.  
“Ahm sorry, was tha’ too much?”  
You looked from him to the cigarettes. And then you grabbed them again, walking forward on your knees until you were right up against his naked chest. He regarded you curiously for a moment, and then grabbed the pack from your hand. “Dae ya _wan’_ me ta skelp ya? Ye naughty lass.” One of his hands pressed down on the small of your back, holding you to him, and the other one came ‘round and spanked you again.  
“Mmh,” you groaned, wincing at the initial sting, and pressed your hips against his.  
He did it again and you jolted forward this time, causing him to groan. He fell back on the mattress and you tore off his towel, he gripped your hips tightly and you leaned down to kiss him, moaning at the contact with his mouth jewelry.  
One of Alistair’s hands snuck up into the shirt and he fondled your breasts, stirring your nipples up to peaks that showed through the cotton. His other hand wandered down from your hips to the heat between your thighs and you sighed, melting against his body. You kissed down his neck and his chest, and the silver glint of his cross necklace caught your eye, so on impulse you took it between your lips and tugged. He looked down at you and groaned, thrusting his hips upward as he fingered you. His arousal pressed hard against you and you gasped, silver necklace dropping from your lips.  
“Alistair…nnnh, fuckme…”  
Both hands cupping your ass, he hoisted you up into a kiss at the same time he entered you with a hiss. “Oh…ahh, yer so hot…”  
“Oh my god, Alistair! Ah!” You sank slowly back onto him and then lifted your hips, biting your lip at the friction.  
“Ach, cam on!” He grabbed your hips to hold you still and bucked up into you quickly, incidentally hitting you right where it counts.  
“OHGOD!” You buried your face in his neck, twisting your fingers in his hair and tugging. “Do that again, hit me right there!” You bucked your hips back down in demonstration and he thrust into you at the same time. “Oh, oh…Alistair…”  
He grunted and thrust, teeth clenched and bared and eyes resting shut. “Ah, ah…where? Righ’ there?”  
“YES, again!”  
Shock, after shock, after shock of pleasure sent all your dignity to hell and you were actually as loud as he was. You discovered you could be louder when his hand made hard contact with your backside again, relighting the soreness.  
The closer you came, the harsher your throat felt and the more your limbs felt like liquid. You could feel Alistair’s fingers adding to the bruises from last night, and that dull pain combined with the sting of the slap to your ass sent you into an animalistic drive for release.  
“Oho, ohhh!” Alistair’s voice rang through the room, moans and shouts accentuating every movement, every shift of the hips. “God, ahm…ahm comin’…!”  
A squeak of a moan came out from between your lips and you fell into a heated kiss, pressing your hips down hard. He thrust quicker and quicker, grunting harshly against your lips until at last he moaned your name, clinging to you like you were the last thing precious to him, and as he came so did you, agape at the rush of pleasure washing through you.  
You both panted as you came down from your orgasms, and he ran his fingers through your hair. You snuggled up, tucking your hands between your chest and his. His other arm wrapped around your back, warm and protective, and you closed your eyes.  
“Well, sae much fer my shower,” he chuckled, all breath.  
“Hah, yeah…” Your fingers sought out the silver necklace, and you twisted it in your fingers. “Um…Alistair, I’m…really glad we saw each other again.”  
All you could hear were a few heavy breaths that lifted you. His fingers stalled in your hair, and his hand dropped to your side, thumb brushing absently over your skin. Perhaps you shouldn’t have said that.  
“Ahm glad of et too,” he said softly.


	4. Plaid is Sexy

Throughout the entire wedding, you had sat uncomfortably in the back row just staring at one red, woolen tartan pattern. The entire time.  
So. Many. Kilts.  
You and Alistair weren’t official yet, but apparently he cared enough about you to ask you to his brother’s wedding. Of course, he was one of the groomsmen, so you weren’t able to sit next to him and maybe whisper some dirty things into his ear and sneak off into the bathroom for a quickie.  
Who you _were_ sitting next to…was Arthur. This was incredibly awkward, because he had barely been invited…to his own brother’s wedding. It would have been better not to have known anyone there.  
As if the wedding wasn’t long enough, the reception took forever. I mean it was rowdy, drunken fun, but the more you laughed with and talked with and clung to Alistair, the more eager you were to get home because damn did he look so fine today.  
Before he turned off the car, you were already out of it, opening the driver’s side, and pulling him into his house. “Whoa, wha’re ye doing?” he chuckled.  
“You need to have sex with me right now.”  
His eyebrows arched, green eyes opened wide as he stared at you for a moment. “Righ’ then.”  
Teeth, tongue, lips, fingers, and suddenly he was pinning you down by the shoulders on the mattress, sucking the breath right out of you. His teeth nipped at a sore hickey and you hissed, arching against his still-clothed form. Panting and kissing whatever part of him your lips could reach, you stripped him of his jacket and tossed it away and slipped off his tie, running your hands over the white waistcoat below. “Mmmm…you’re so sexy…”  
You felt him smile and chuckle against your collarbone, planting a kiss there.  
He supported his weight on his hands, hovering over you and idly kissing you while you slowly unbuttoned the waistcoat and then his shirt. You smoothed your hands over his subtle muscles and pressed your lips to the dip of his clavicle: the easiest way to make him whimper like a virgin.  
“N-no, don’t take it off,” you said, hands around his wrists to stop him from removing the heavy red kilt.  
“Uh…excuse me?”  
“Leave. The kilt. On.”  
“Ah think ye had a bit much tae drink.”  
“No. Alistair. Leave it on. _Please_ ,” you whimpered, biting your lip.  
Confused, he continued to kiss you, relaxing into it as you ran your hands and fingers and knuckles over his chest and arms and back.  
“Mmh, you’re tense,” you noticed, kneading a knot in his lower back. He groaned, nuzzling your neck, and shifted his hips as you worked the tense spot. With both hands you gave him an awkward wrap-around massage, and you watched him move with the pressure you applied. It was a bit mesmerizing to see his body move like that, slow and sensual, like he was intentionally teasing.  
He smirked down at you and took your bottom lip between your teeth, continuing to make a show of his reactions to the amateur massage. Oh. So he _was_ being intentional about it. You jabbed him in a knot and he lurched forward with a growl. “Hey, now.”  
“You were teasing, you flirt.”  
“Don’ have a clue whit yoo’re talkin’ aboot,” he purred, nuzzling your neck and biting. You winced and gasped every time he nicked a pre-existing bite, body jerking to meet his in the air.  
You were breathing heavily now, legs practically melting open. At this point, you were kind of glad Alistair had forced you into this dress; less barrier for you to worry about. One hand traveled down your belly, the heat seeping through the satin. He bunched the dress up to your waist and began to stroke you, slowly, with three fingers. “Ah-h…” You rubbed against his teasingly light touch and he smirked down at you. “Mmh, Alistair…quit teasing…”  
“Ready?”  
“Oh-h, yes…I’ve been ready all damn day!”  
He still took his precious time, made you throb, made you whine, and you squirmed and groaned, deciding it was time to tease Alistair himself. You lifted up the aprons of his tartan garment and swiftly grabbed hold of his shaft, rubbing and squeezing quickly.  
“Ah, ho my god!” he gasped, growing hard in your grip. “Hhhhhh…” He bucked into your hand, rubbing you more quickly with precise focus on your clitoris. For a moment, you were both whimpering and blushing, and then you took control. You hooked an arm around his neck and pulled yourself up, sucking at the dip in his clavicle. “Mmm!” he responded, kissing your forehead roughly. You pressed your tongue into the indentation, stroking him from base to tip, finishing with a flick of your thumb over the head. “Och, yes, go _d._ ” You pinched his ear between the thumb and index finger of your free hand and massaged his earlobe, careful not to tug at his piercings. “Oho…ohhhh yesss…” He leaned into every sensation you administered to his body, biting his lip. You removed your attention from his neck and kissed his lips, swirling your tongue around his and giggling when you felt his tongue stud.  
His whole body heaved with a sigh and he wrapped you up in his arms, sitting up on his feet and bringing you into his lap. Cool satin slid over your skin as he brought the dress up and over your head, pressing his lips to one nipple and kissing it erect. “Oh…” Your hands left their previous positions and you held his head at your breasts. You shivered as he licked, bit, his silken lips smoothing over your sensitive mounds and sending bolts of hot pleasure to your core.  
You lifted your hips and quickly discarded the one scrap of underwear keeping you from taking this further. You adjusted yourself in his lap, hands on his shoulders for balance, and then they dripped down his torso as you savored every muscle, every brown freckle, every orange hair. Bunching up the thick fabric of his kilt, you bit your lip and lifted your hips, locking your eyes into his as you slowly lowered yourself onto his cock. “Sst—ah…”  
“Mmmmh,” he groaned appreciatively, one hand landing on your hip while the other brushed your hair back from your face. “Stell no’ used tae me?”  
“Hope I never am,” you mumbled, breaking into a high whine at the end as he bucked up into you. You clutched the red fabric tightly, throbbing hotly around him as you began to ride him slowly, haltingly. He guided you with his hand, head tipped back in ecstasy with a devilish grin on his face.  
“Yes, ach yes… _yes…_ ” He took your breasts into his hands and squeezed, rolling his thumbs over your pert pink buds. You moved faster, rocking your hips at an angle that sent searing bursts of pleasure through your being. Your mouth dropped open as though on loose hinges and you leaned your head forward, touching your forehead to his clavicle and looking down. You watched him move in and out of you, marveled at the thick base of his cock preceded by a delicious tuft of orange hair. Your fingers clenched in the rough red fabric draped around his hips. The blockish pattern on it was a feast for your eyes and gave you the inexplicable urge to smile, the red color igniting a stronger flame of passion—or perhaps that was due to how the head of his cock struck you in a very, very beautiful place.  
“OHH!” you cried out, sliding your tongue over your teeth before biting down on the tip of your tongue.  
He growled and pulled you flush against him so that your breasts were crushed to his chest and he rocked his hips upward with more force, one hand pulling your head back by the hair. Without consent or warning, he dug his teeth into your neck, sucking harder than he had ever before done to you.  
“Ow, ow _WW!_ A-Alistair, thathurts…”  
He ignored this, teeth biting harder. The pain made you twitch, and intensified the pleasure, but it was still really painful. And he just bit harder, growling, and harder, and harder, until—“mnhfh! Oops…”  
“Oops?” you breathed, a bit worried now. “Wh-what do you mean?”  
Again, he ignored you, instead licking over the bitten area with his hot tongue. The stud skimmed over a particularly sensitive part of your neck, and you shivered, once again giving in to the pleasure.  
And then you shivered again, a bit unnerved. Something tickled your skin. When you looked down at your collarbone, a tiny drop of blood could be found slinking its way to your chest. “Ah! Alistair?”  
“’M sorry,” he mumbled, kissing you in all your sensitive places.  
It stung a little, but as it throbbed, it also built your pleasure. You jerked your hips down, rekindling the rhythm that had begun to slow. “Ah…it’s fine…mmmh, it kind of feels good…”  
“Mmh, good, ‘cause et tastes pretty good, too.” This should have unnerved you, but it meant he would have no qualms with licking it off you. This theory was confirmed when the tip of his tongue dipped between your breasts and caught the drip of blood, following it all the way up to the bite, which burned hot and still stung. He kissed the bite again and again until you turned your head, forcing him to the other side of your neck.  
He bit there, too, but with a great deal more gentleness. With one hand he reached down and pressed his middle finger to your clit. You gave a strangled moan, pressing yourself onto him as much as you could stand.  
“Rub me harder, Alistair,” you breathed, pressing his hand against you with your own. “Ah…a-ah, yes, like that…ohhh…”  
“Hnn--! Hh, yoo’re so sexy, oh my god…” He pressed his lips to your forehead again and then back to your neck. He latched his mouth over an unbruised spot and sucked, harder and harder. He pleased you with his fingers, with his penis, with his mouth, and you barely had time to choke out a warning before you came.  
He intensified the pressure of every one of his actions and while the pulsing, fizzing pleasure of orgasm filled you, he released inside of you and shouted your name with barely enough breath to do so.  
“Oi, listen,” he said when finally his breath returned to him, combing his fingers through your hair. “Ah wan’ ya tae be my girlfrien’.”  
“Really? Officially?”  
He nodded, smiling. “Yeah.”  
\--  
It had been a few weeks since the wedding, and a week and a half since you had officially moved in with Alistair.  
For a couple of nights, you had been more than happy to stay up as long as necessary if it meant you’d be getting a little action. In fact, most nights when he returned home tired and cranky, you were the one with suggestions on how to cheer him up.  
But after that couple of nights, you had decided to stay up only long enough for him to get home from the pub, and then you would snuggle him to sleep. He didn’t mind, really; in fact, it was a quicker way to get him to let go of the frustrations of the day.  
Tonight, however, he wasn’t in the mood to just cuddle. “Please, sweetheart?”  
“Look, Alistair, I really do love sleeping with you, but I’m just really tired tonight. I had a rough nine-to-five and I’ve been just waiting for you to get home, but…”  
“Pleeeeeeaaaaaaase,” he hissed in your ear, pulling you close so your back was right against his chest. You chuckled, but sighed, snuggling the pillow.  
“I’m not in the mood!”  
“Well what’ll get ya in the mood?”  
Oh. _Oh._ This was an opportunity. “If you put on the kilt…”  
“Ach, no…why d’ye like that thing so much?”  
“It’s sexy!” You squirmed, emphasizing your point. “But if you’re too tired to go put it on, then you can wait ‘til the morning.”  
“Be righ’ back,” he said, warmth leaving you as the light clicked on.  
After several minutes, he returned to the bed wearing just the kilt, as requested. “Righ’. Are ye ‘in the mood’ now?”  
You looked at him, and then to the floor, and then back to him, reaching down over the bed. When you came back up you hugged a pair of thick, black combat boots. “These too.”  
Lips parted in confusion, Alistair raised an eyebrow. “Um…why?”  
“It’s sexy, just do it.”  
“Ohhhkay,” he obliged, taking quite a time with getting them on and grumbling the entire while. Oh man, he just looked so sexy in red. Sexy in plaid. Plaid is the sexiest pattern. In this moment, you swore you would never like another pattern more than plaid, nor another clothing article more than kilts. Just looking at him _wearing_ one was already doing it for you. You took this time to discard your clothes, lying yourself atop the bed, ready for him. His eyes widened immediately when he turned around and saw you like that, and he crawled up between your legs with a predatory smile. “Ready jis’ like tha’?”  
“Just like that.”  
“No foreplay required?” he asked, pressing a couple curious fingers against your entrance. His eyebrows hitched up. “Already _so_ wet for me.”  
“Mmhm,” you affirmed, blushing as you nodded. Your eyes delighted in those boots. “Yes, good…good.”  
“Ya really like ‘em tha’ much?” Without awaiting an answer, he halted his advance and sat back, modeling one of the boots for you. You whimpered, bit your lip, nodded, and beckoned “come here” with one hand. Instead of coming forward, he reached out the toe of his boot and pressed it against your crotch, causing you to hiss and tense up.  
“Oh, h-hurry up,” you pleaded, and in an instant he was back between your legs, arms planted on either side of you to cage you in. The silver cross on his necklace dangled in front of your face and you reached up, slipping a hand behind his neck to pull him down into a kiss. As he kissed you he entered you, already hot and hard. “Mmuh!” you whined, wrapping your legs around him. He drilled into you hard and fast and you accepted it graciously, moaning and mewling as you tried to keep up with the pleasure sweeping you away.  
You looked down. One of his hands held the kilt bunched up in the front, giving you a perfect view of exactly what he was doing to you. You watched his abdominal muscles flex and tense as he thrust, the sight nearly making your mouth water.  
“Mmh, mmh…harder, Alistair, fuck me hard…!” you encouraged, pressing your head back into the pillows. You were already very, very close, certain this had something to do with the little costume idea.  
“Ah, yes, ahm gonny fuck you so—HNNH—hard ye can’t—ah—sit or walk…” He panted in your ear and sloppily kissed your neck. “Yoo’re mine, an’ your tight, wet cunt is _mine,_ an’ everyone’ll know et…nnh…’coz ye won’ be able te move…withou’ flinchin’.” He punctuated these words with hard, unforgiving thrusts, forcing all sound in your throat to cease.  
You sweated and panted, clenched around your lover in every sense. “Alistair, ah--! Almost!”  
“Hmmh!” he grunted, putting more power into his thrusts to push you over into bliss. You could almost hear the fireworks go off inside you and your body shivered hard. “Ahh, fuck,” he said, climaxing with you. When the two of you came down from it, he flopped over onto his side of the bed.  
Kneeling, you unwrapped the kilt and untied his boots, guiding them off his feet sweetly. He only smiled in thanks before succumbing to sleep.  
You pulled the sheets and blankets up over both of you and snuggled closely to his side.


	5. Drunk.

“Date night?” you cooed, wrapping your arms around Alistair’s neck as you entered the kitchen. “We’ll go out, and I’ll wear that sexy little dress you love so much, and I’ll get to see you burn with jealousy at all the guys vying for my attention.”  
He chuckled, kissing your lips sweetly. “No’ tonigh’, dear. We’re goin’ over ta Alfred’s house, mind? For his…football party, or whatever.”  
“Superbowl…? You know that’s American football, right?”  
“Aye, but it’s still a party. There’ll be free food and free booze. Ah think that’s enough fer me,” he said. “You don’ have tae go if ya don’ wan’.”  
Your lips puckered in thought. “Well, I suppose I do have to. Someone’s gotta drive your drunk butt home later. Why did Al invite you, anyway?”  
“Ere ya kiddin’? Man’s got a serious accent fetish.”  
“Ah, yet another reason to go with you. He had better keep his hands off my man.”  
\--  
“Hey—HEY! Alistair, all right!” Alfred beamed as he opened the door. You caught him checking out your boyfriend’s ass as he walked through, and resisted the urge to smack the host.  
“A’reigh’, ah jis’ came fer the beer so point the way. Ah’m jis kiddin’, c’mere.” Alfred was instantly smothered in a bro hug, eyes darting away in shyness.  
“Ah-haha youuuu,” Alfred blushed, stumbling out of the hug. “Nice timing, the game starts in two minutes! And I already have dibs on the beanbag chair! WOO!”  
“Ah, darn,” you said with an exaggerated snap and a big smile on your face. You took Alistair by the hand, following Alfred over a surprisingly nice hardwood floor and past a carpeted staircase. It was a nice house, and very big. With the turn of a corner you found yourselves between a kitchen with granite countertops and a large living room with amber walls, a dark carpet, and cream-colored leather furniture. You shared a look of disbelief with Alistair, who accepted a beer from Alfred. He offered you one as well, but you declined.  
“This is a nice place, Al,” you commented with surprised sincerity as you took a seat on the sofa next to a red-nosed blond boy with tear-filled violet eyes. He sneezed away from you and mumbled an apology.  
“Thanks!” said Alfred, flopping down into a purple beanbag chair at your feet and looking back over it like an eager child. “A lot of people are surprised the first time they come over. But hey, I’m not as much of a slob as people think! Of course, a lot of this is recent development. Remodeling and stuff.”  
“With what money?”  
The back of Alfred’s honey-colored head faced you as he faced the 80-inch HD screen mounted on the wall. Again, Alistair’s face was just as confused as yours.  
As the announcers began to talk, you surveyed the occupants of the room. Alfred, of course, sat before you with his feet up on the coffee table, a bowl of Chex Mix in his lap, and a Blue Moon in hand. Sam seemed to be the only other in the room who was interested in the game, sitting up with rapt attention in the leather chair beside the sofa on Alistair’s side.  
To your right sat Matthew, with his knees tucked up and an obvious cold. “Why’re you here and not at home getting rest?”  
He nodded toward Alfred with a pitying expression. “Ivan’s been taking care of me enough over the past couple days. It’s just a cold, not like I’m dying.” He coughed a couple times, then squinted his eyes. “Hhhtchu! S-sorry.”  
“Hey, it’s okay, you’re sick,” you said, giving him a gentle pat on the knee. He smiled at you, and then smiled upon the text lighting up his phone screen. You could only assume it was Ivan, who clearly would want no part of celebrating an American sports event with his and Matthew’s ex-boyfriend.  
Arthur’s ex as well, you recalled as your eyes found Arthur at the granite-topped bar in the kitchen with despair written in his eyes. Whatever his reasons for coming had been, you could visibly see he was regretting them. He overturned a beer bottle to find it empty, and as he rose to get another, Francis held him down by the shoulder with a murmur of “Pace yourself, mon ami.”  
You tuned in to the conversation between your boyfriend and Sam right at “So how’s tha’ redheeded lassie a’ yoors? Still with her, aye?”  
Sam groaned. “God, she’s exhaustin’! Her ideer of a gud mornin’ is bacon with a side a whiskey, and a sticky note that says ‘get drunk and meet me in the shower.’” He threw up a hand in exasperation, pressing two fingers to his forehead.  
“Wait, whit’s wrong with tha’?”  
“She’s insatiable! I mean, I can un’rstand her actin’ like that once in a whal, but sometimes I jus’—she’s turning our life int’r a porno. It’s excessive.”  
“I didn’t know you were dating Kesha,” Alfred commented, eyes still on the game.  
“Hah! Don’t she wish it.” He calmly took a sip of his drink, watching the game as intently as Alfred.  
Alistair wrapped an arm around your waist, nuzzling your neck affectionately for a moment before leaning back against the sofa to watch the game. You stole the brown bottle out of his hands and took a swig, swiftly choking on it from laughter at his downright murderous glare.  
“Yae nevar take a man’s beer,” he growled with an exaggerated curl over the r’s, nipping at your ear as he reclaimed the bottle. You shivered, snuggling up to him.  
And you reached up for it again, hearing a sucking sound as the bottle was torn from his lips. He stared at you with wide green eyes, hand still frozen in position as he watched you drink down more of his beer. “What are you gonna do about it?” you asked, batting your eyes cutely.  
He continued to stare; but then his thick eyebrows rose, a smile breaking his near-scowl. He leaned down to kiss your nose. “Can ah ask ye tae please no’ take my drink?”  
“Aw. I can respect that, dear.” You kissed his cheek, snuggling into his chest.  
“Yeah! Touchdown!” Al cheered, hands forming a V for victory.  
“Sssshit,” Sam whispered, staring hard at the TV.  
The doorbell rang and Alfred groaned, shifting in his beanbag chair and pouting back at Matthew. “Hey Matt, if you answer the door I’ll let you have the first slice of pizza.”  
Matthew sighed. “Yeah, yeah.” He took the money from Alfred’s hand and left for the front door, leaving a vacant seat, which Francis quickly snatched up.  
You watched curiously as he reached over and tapped Alfred’s shoulder. “Alfred. Psst. What is ze point of ze game? How do zey win?”  
Alfred said nothing for a good minute. “Um. You serious right now, dude?”  
“Yes, what is ze point?”  
“It’s literally just like every other sport besides baseball,” Alfred said. “Well, every _cool_ sport. You try to get the ball over to the other end.”  
“What ball?”  
Alfred turned around and glared. You suppressed a chuckle at Francis’s perfect impression of innocence.  
“That one! The one that looks like this!” He stretched a leg out under the coffee table and produced a well-worn football, tossing it at Francis. “That ball. Okay?”  
“But it is not a ball,” Francis said. He almost broke character with this one.  
Sam was glaring at the Frenchman, too. You could feel Alistair chuckling. “Aye, et’s a ball, Francis. But et’s not a football, et’s a _rugby ball._ ”  
“Ah, mais oui, tu as raison.” Francis looked back to check on Arthur and, satisfied, returned his attention to the screen, watching intently. Matthew came in with three boxes of pizza, quickly opening the box on top to you before setting it on the table for its hasty consumption.  
“Thank you,” you mouthed as the others simply cheered for Matt like he had scored a point himself. Alfred took an entire box to himself while Sam and Alistair quickly devoured the next, and Matt made sure to take several slices over to Arthur.  
Francis regarded the greasy pizza with a wrinkled nose, resuming his questioning of the great American sport of football. “W’o is on first?”  
“That would be baseball,” Sam sneered.  
“Baseball is on first? I am kidding, I am kidding!” he added in a hurry before Alfred could chuck the football at his head.  
“Oi, Mattie, woul’ ya breng me another brew while yoo’re o’er there?”  
“Yeah, bring me one too, actually,” you called. Sam and Al, wrapped up in the game, each raised garbled syllables that sounded vaguely like “yeah me too, man.”  
The sound of the refrigerator opening almost hid Arthur’s whispered plea for a beer. Almost.  
“Non, Arthur, you do not need another one righ—“  
“Shut up, Francis! I can have another beer if I damn well please! Two drinks won’t do anything to me and you know it!”  
Francis did shut up. Matt came around with the beer, and you watched as Alfred opened it on a Coca-Cola bottle opener fastened to the end of the coffee table. Sam popped the cap off of his drink with his belt buckle. Alistair scoffed loud enough to make the two turn around to watch, and with little more than a pinch of his index finger and thumb, he took the cap right off. He sipped casually with one brow raised and a smirk on his lips, pushing his hair back with one hand before laying that arm around your shoulders in a show of possession. You pushed away, snuggling up to Matthew with your tongue poking out. Alistair chuckled and shrugged.  
“Nnh—I th-think you should back up a little,” Matthew said. “I’ll get you s-sick—s—aaHHhTcHH!”  
“Oh, pauvre Mattieu! Are you sure you should be here? Shall I drive you home?”  
Matthew thought over the offer, checking his cell phone “Mmh…no, I’m having fun here. It’s good to be around other people, for a change. Oh—Francis, stop,” he protested to the kiss against his temple.  
“I will go get you a box of tissues, you poor thing.”  
After Francis got up, you caught Sam’s eyebrow raised in challenge toward your beau, beer bottle tilted at more and more of an angle. You looked up at Alistair doing much the same thing with an air of more ease and cheeky amusement. It was he who finished first, by a simple sliver of a second. Each slammed his bottle down on the table with a huffed exhale, Sam clicking his tongue in defeat.  
“Ah, don’ feel too bad, ye were close,” Alistair said. “Bu’ whit’s that cute le’l American phrase? Reigh’, ‘close on’y counts in horseshoes an’ hand grenades.’”  
“Will you fuckin’—“  
“Arthur, non, you just got one,” Francis scolded.  
“Yeah, you’re damn right. And I finished it. No effect. Now if you’ll ex _cuse_ me…” You heard the clear clinking of beer bottles as the fridge opened. It closed again almost instantly.  
“Arthur, you must to slow down.”  
You heard silence for a moment, the presence of white noise soon identifying itself as the game on the television. A dejected sigh accompanied Arthur to his seat, and no sooner after this did Alistair request another beer.  
“Maybe you should slow down too, hun,” you suggested, taking a drink from your half-empty bottle.  
He chuckled and kissed the top of your head, bringing you into a snuggle. “Don’t worry, dear, et’ll take a lot more ta knock me down.”  
“Oh! Alfred,” said Francis as he returned. “I forgot to ask one more important question: which team is ze best?”  
By the end of that discussion, Al and Sam had nearly started a fistfight.  
\--  
"A'reigh'," Alistair grunted, standing to his feet...with a bit of a sway. You watched over the back of the sofa as he stumbled over his own feet before the refrigerator, holding onto it for stability. "Whoa...ahaha..."  
"You alrat back there?" Sam called, setting down his just-empty bottle.  
"Aye, the floor's jis' spinnin' a bit...hmhm..."  
"Grab me a cold one, would'ja?"  
"Me too!" Alfred added through a mouthful of Doritos.  
“A-and me—“ Arthur started, but Francis cut him off with a loud “no.”  
You looked down at your near-empty beer. "Me too, babe."  
"Ach, ah've on'y got two hands!" Alistair complained, taking the necks of two bottles in one hand and tucking two more beers under his arm, and bumped closed the fridge with his hip.  
"Isn't it like, your job to bring us drinks, complainer?" Alfred teased as he took a bottle from Alistair.  
"Ahmne at work, am I. It's yoor house; yer jis' bein' a piss-poor host."  
"Alistair!" You gave him a hard look and took from him your drink. He looked back at you with a raised eyebrow.  
"What?"  
"That was rude, even for you."  
Alistair shrugged, popping the cap off his drink with his bare hand. Alfred tried, with much difficulty, to do the same, but ended up cutting his thumb and resigning to the bottle opener at the end of the coffee table.  
For a fluttering moment, you tried to pay attention to the game. So did Alistair, arm around your waist with his fingers brushing your hip a bit more intimately than was appropriate for the moment. Then he said, “Tha’s no’ how men play rugby. Tha’s how le’l girls do et.”  
“This isn’t rugby, dumbass, it’s football,” Alfred sneered.  
“It isn’t football either!” Arthur interjected.  
“Ah know et’s not. Rugby is played by men. This game is fer jessies.” You watched Alistair in disbelief, but he noticed not, taking another good drink of his beer and continuing on. “Whit’s weth all this…the…why’re they wearin’ helmets? How in hell d’ye even see anythin’?”  
“Dude shut up, it’s for protection.” Alfred began to pout a little. “This game is dangerous.”  
“Yah, fer to’al pussies!”  
“You wanna go?” You could visibly see Alfred regretting those words, and looked up to see why. By the smile on Alistair’s face, he had already accepted the challenge.  
“Ye wan’ me tae show ye how a real man does it?”  
Alfred's face reddened, but he stood up, making his shoulders big. "Bring it."  
Alistair, pleased, stood and snatched up the brown, oblong ball off the sofa. On his way to the sliding glass door, he ruffled Mattie's hair, tripping over one of his feet. He ignored the stumble and opened the door, smirking lazily at Alfred and tossing and catching the ball in one hand. "If ye can make it o'er here withou' falling flat on your arse, of course."  
"Shut the fuck up."  
This could only end in bruises. Francis rushed right past you and out the door, an eager spectator.  
You took Sam by the hands and pulled him to his feet. "C'mon, we'll be cheerleaders."  
"Wh--no way, cheerleadin's fer girls!"  
You gave him a light smack and he reluctantly followed you out onto the back patio. "Matt?"  
"I--nnchu! S-sorry. I'll just watch through the window." He sniffled and texted on.  
Alfred's back yard was not impressive, but it wasn't small. There was a small cement patio with an old-school barbecue in the corner, and a stretch of fairly-well-kept lawn that reached all the way to the wooden fences.  
The play was very, very rough between the two men, and Alfred winced more than he was proud of. About five minutes in, the ball had rolled to a stop at the foot of the barbecue, and the two were simply wrestling, with Francis cheering it on like a girl fight the whole way. Alistair was winning, of course, and you wondered if Alfred's lack of effort had anything to do with trying to hide how much he was enjoying Alistair putting him in a headlock or pinning him face down in the grass with his hands behind his back.  
“Ouch, oUCH! All right, get off me!”  
Alistair let up, choking on is laughter at the break in Alfred’s voice. When he stood he stumbled back, just barely keeping himself from falling down on the grass. Alfred struggled to his feet, blushing darkly.  
“All right, what ever. L-let’s go back inside, we’re missing the game.”  
“You okay, babe?” you asked Alistair as he draped an arm over your shoulders, still chuckling.  
He cleared his throat, walking you in. “Yah, ‘m fine…ah…”  
“Merde. Arthur!” Francis scolded, grabbing the bottle of Coruba from the eager Englishman’s hands. “T’a pas le sense de la moderation…”  
“Shu-t up, y’ bloody frog! I c’n drunk as much as I fffuckin’ wan’ to!”  
“Did you drink ze w’ole thing!”  
“Two ev ‘um,” Arthur corrected.  
Alfred sighed, returning to his seat with a hand over his face, and Alistair chuckled at the sight of his teetering brother. As you sat back down and snuggled up to him, you listened to the dispute at the bar.  
"You know 'ow you find blackened lungs unattractive, mm?" Francis stage-whispered. "Well I find a ruined liver incredibly unattractive!"  
"Shuuuut the fuck u-p!" Arthur slurred, interrupted by a hiccup. "I let you--you chase af'er women allllll'e time an' you don' see--hic--see me complaining about it! Le' me 'ave my fun, yer such a prick! Whoa--"  
 _Thud._  
Everyone looked back to find Arthur lying sprawled on the floor, groaning. "Who th'fuck would pu' a floor there? Auuugh..."  
He protested as Francis picked him up with a mouthed apology the rest of the group.  
"That's pretty pathetic," Alfred commented, cracking open another beer. "It isn't even halftime."  
You counted up the empty bottles on the coffee table and the floor as Alistair said, "Och, as ef you coul' even last that long. Every'un knows yoo're a lightweight."  
"Dude, are you serious right now? You were the one stumbling all over yourself outside!"  
Alistair ignored this, taking a magnificent drink of his beer. "Ye think ye can out-drink a Scotsman? Bring et on!"  
Red flag. "Sweetheart, don't..."  
He shrugged your hand off his shoulder and leaned forward, regarding Alfred with challenge. "Well?"  
Alfred set down his drink and sat up straight, trying to look as intimidating as possible in a beanbag chair. "Superbowl drinking game. Starting after the next commercial break."  
"Yer on."  
"Count me in!" Sam interjected.  
"Oh no," Mattie moaned, looking from the competitors to his phone as if he longed to send himself home in an attachment.  
You shared a similar sentiment, though the intrigue of watching how this played out was at the very least more promising than watching Sam and Alfred argue over their football teams.  
"Ye gonny join in, love?"  
"No, I think I'd rather have my wits about me for this. Plus, I do need to drive you home after."  
"Suit yerself. A'reigh', let's write up the rules," he said to Alfred.  
You shuffled closer to Matthew, who was sniffling and coughing and handling his cold very poorly.  
"You gonna join, Matt?"  
"Oh I--haatchhsst--sorry. Ah, no...bad things happen when I drink too much." He blushed, violet eyes averted, then balled up more and continued to text. To your left, Sam and Al boisterously proposed and amended and ratified exactly the circumstances under which they would drink, what they would drink, and how much they would drink should something mentioned in their rules occur in the game. Alistair contributed as well, mostly upping the numbers of shots, and of course the other two would not argue him down.  
"So, why are you actually here?" you asked Matthew.  
"For the same reason Francis and Arthur came. It's important to Alfred, and well, he may be a bit annoying but he's so full of life. It's hard to turn him down; he gets like a sad puppy." He held up a finger, covering his mouth with the crook of his elbow. "Nnh-hh-hhhatchhh! S-Sor-r-r-aaaAATCSHHH! Augh..."  
“Will you q-quiet down?” Sam snapped, a vocal break diminishing the menace in his voice.  
“Wh-me?” Mattie asked, worried and very confused. “I-I’m sorry; if I could stop sneezing, believe me I would.”  
Sam opened his mouth to say something else, but then closed it, returning his attention to the drinking game convention. He glared when Matthew sneezed again.   
“Uh…maybe we should leave the room for a bit?” you suggested, eager to get away from the set up of inevitable destruction. Matthew nodded and you helped him to his feet, waiting as he swayed from the rush of blood to his brain.  
“A-Arthur, arête!” you heard from the top of the stairs. Matt raised a curious eyebrow at you.  
You shrugged and led him up the stairs, where your eyes lit on the amusing sight of Arthur making drunken advances on the protesting Frenchman. The latter looked back at you with pleading in his eyes. “I am so conflicted…”  
“Want a hand with him?” Matthew asked with a sigh and a sniffle. Francis nodded, clearly relieved from the inner struggle of do-I-take-advantage-of-this-situation-or-non.  
You awkwardly excused yourself, arriving downstairs to a boisterous outburst of cheering. Upon reuniting with your very lively companions, you were taken aback by the sight of the entire table filled with shot glasses. “Alfred, do you have a shot glass from every State?”  
“Several from some,” he stated with pride. “You don’t wanna know how many I have from California. These aren’t all of them, either. I think I have…247, total? I could build a House of them.”  
You stared.  
The commercial was over. Ohhhh no. After a little debate over whether to return upstairs, you resigned yourself to a corner of the sofa and watched with intrigue. Shot after shot after shot after shotgunning a beer after shot after shot after shot commenced with much cheering and loud laughter. They must have written up a lot of rules, because this was getting close to non-stop drinking, save during commercials. These were the only times you could talk to any of them.  
During the first commercial break after the start of the boys’ game, conversation and focus levels remained fairly normal.  
“Tha’ one was really stupid,” Alistair complained, tossing some Chex Mix into his mouth.  
“Agreed,” said Sam. “The one lashyear was stupid, too.”  
“Know what my favorite Super Bowl commercial is?” Alfred asked, refilling several shot glasses. He bit back a smile and controlled the laughter bubbling up in his throat, then threw his head back and declared, in falsetto, “I’m spicy!”  
Alistair choked on his Chex Mix, immediately going into a coughing fit. “Wh-wh-hhchk! Wha’ on earth was tha’!”  
“That warn’t a Super Bowl commercial,” Sam laughed. “Man, I’d clean forgot about it, though.”  
“What are you talking about? You sure it wasn’t?”  
“Yeah, it was on alla time but it wasn’t a Super Bowl one.”  
You patted Alistair’s back, for he was still trying to get bits of rye chip out of his respiratory tract. “Thank y’, dear.”  
Matthew returned, sitting down right as the game recommenced. Before you could even get a “so what happened?” out of your mouth, the three contesters raised a jumble of exclamations all ending with “Three shots!”  
“Matt, join us!” Alfred insisted, shoving a short glass of golden liquid at the new arrival.  
“Oh I…no, no. That’s a bad idea—“  
“Ach, cam’ on!” Alistair added, reaching over you to give Matt a firm pat on the knee. “Gis a laugh. One shot.”  
“I…”  
“You don’t have to, Matt,” you encouraged. He looked from you to the shot in Alfred’s hand, and back to you and back to the shot, then his face screwed up and he sneezed three times in quick succession, eyes watering up. Alfred took back the shot, drinking it himself as the other two took one each.  
“Ahahaw, poor Mattie. You’re right; you shouldn’t be drinking tonight.” He hadn’t at all meant it in a sarcastic or provocative way, but it still had the effect on Matthew, who reached over and grabbed a shot, slamming it back in defiance. You sighed, tucking your legs up on the sofa.  
“You can count me in! You hosers are goin’ down!”  
“Ey!”  
“Yeee-haw!”  
“That’s my Mattie!”  
“You guys are idiots,” you sighed. Matt switched places with you, and joined the action.  
Francis came down the stairs to watch the fun as well, mildly bemused at the spectacle of four men cheering on or shouting at the screen and taking shots. Each was pink in the face, Matthew having caught up fairly quickly with the level of intoxication in the room. You humored Alistair by taking a shot, very much tempted to join in the fun, but you had unfortunately designated yourself the driver.  
By the second commercial break, Matthew was already swaying. A hand fumbled back behind him for the sofa and he fell into the seat with a less-than-graceful thump. “Ahahaha this ‘s fun. S-say, Al. Is that my hockey stick?” He pointed behind the ficus in the corner. He stood, staggering a bit on the way to his misplaced possession, and held it above his head triumphantly. “I’ve been lookin’ all oover for this thing!”  
“Yeah, sorry man! I keep forgetting to get it back to ya!”  
“A’rat, I’m goin’ out for a smoke,” said Sam, standing to his feet with a bit of difficulty.  
“Oi, can ah bum one off ye? Forgot mine at th’ house,” Alistair explained, following Sam out the back door.  
“Sure thing. Francis?” Sam asked, handing Alistair a cigarette.  
“Non, merci, I ‘ave quit smoking. Arthur does not like it.” There was a heavy note of longing in his voice as he helped himself to a glass of wine in the kitchen.  
“Awww, whipped!” Sam mocked, placing an orange filter between his teeth and sliding the door closed.  
“Duuude, you gave up smoking for _Arthur?_ ” Alfred stared in disbelief. “Don’t get me wrong, I am like sssso against smoking, but…he is not worth that.”  
“You might want to stop talking now, Alfred,” Francis warned haughtily. “You ‘ave clearly ‘ad too much to drink, so I will let zat comment go.”  
“You ca-an’t fool me,” Alfred slurred, getting on his knees on the sofa beside you and talking to Francis over the back of it. “Don’t act like he’sssso amazing, ‘cause he’s not. You’re not gunna make me jealous jus‘cause you have my ex-boyfriend. I’ve been there and done that…done it _hella_ times…heheheh…tch-trust me, _hella times._ He’s not all that in bed.”  
Francis set down his glass with the utmost delicacy and control. “Zere is zis American phrase which comes from baseball, if I am correct, zat goes along ze lines of ‘trois strikes, you’re out.’ You ‘ave deux strikes. Now would be a good time to stop.”  
“You’re just bluffing!”  
“No, Al, I don’t think he is,” you intervened, tugging on his sleeve. You looked back at Mattie for help. He set down the hockey stick and put a hand on Alfred’s shoulder.  
If Alfred was about to say another stupid thing, it would have to wait, because “ _FUCK!_ ”  
Sam’s laughter could be heard through the closed door along with a stream of Scottish curses and a bit of coughing. You rushed outside, immediately overwhelmed by the horrible smell of something burning. “Eugh, what happened?”  
Sam was still laughing, and gestured at your boyfriend with his cig in his hand. “Poor bastard lit the wrong end.”  
Alistair looked down sadly at the ruined cigarette in his hand, seemingly debating whether or not to salvage the thing and smoke it anyway. Sam put an end to his suffering and handed him another.  
All three of you turned right around at the sound of a thud and a smash, preceded by a yelp of pain. From Francis’s triumphant smirk upon returning to his seat at the bar, you could only guess that Alfred had made his third strike.  
You walked in without the smokers and helped Matthew pick Alfred up off the floor (well, it was more like you were doing all the work, because Matt could barely keep _himself_ up). You glared at Francis until he sighed and submitted to helping you pick up the broken bits of beer bottle. “Are you all right, Alfred?”  
“Y-yeah, I’m fine. Took it like a man!”  
“Great, wonderful,” you muttered, assisting Alfred back to his beloved beanbag chair.  
Sam and Alistair soon came back inside, the scent of cigarette smoke fresh on their clothes. Sam took a seat beside Alfred and Alistair returned to his place beside you.  
By the time the next commercial rolled ‘round, Alistair had reached a very handsy level of drunkenness.  
“Wh-whoa! Uh…sweetheart. N-not…not here.” With a firm grip on his wrist, you removed his hand from between your thighs. “L-later.”  
“Ach…no, I wan’ yae nowww…” His head landed on your shoulder, and he nuzzled his face into your neck in a very feline manner. You shivered as his teeth grazed your skin, as his lips left sloppy kisses.  
“Al-Alist-tair, mmh…babe, stop.” Your fingertips met his lips and you pushed him back.  
“Ye don’ wan’a hhhave sex wi’ me?” he asked as though genuinely surprised, like a child inquiring the existence of Santa Claus. He was a bit loud with it, too, and his arm wrapped tightly and warmly around your waist.  
You crossed your legs. “N—I do, I really do, babe. But not right now. We are at Alfred’s house.”  
“Haw, Alfred can suck m— _hic_ —my cock, tha self-righ’ous cunt—“  
You clapped a hand over his mouth and looked over at Alfred, relieved to find that he was far too out of it to have heard a word of that. A sharp pain closed around the edge of your hand. “OW--! Do not bite me! Oh man this was a bad idea on so many levels.”  
You looked around for help but at some point, Francis had gone upstairs. Sam was only a little less smashed than Alfred, and Matthew w—the poor, poor guy, legs stretched out on the floor as he leaned against the sofa, hiccupping and sneezing and definitely down for the count.  
By halftime, Alfred had his shirt off, and Alistair had made several more flustering moves on you. You finally had resigned yourself to the other side of the couch whilst Alistair and Alfred conducted some nonsensical, yet clearly amusing, conversation.  
“How you doin’, Matt?”  
“I’m doing ff-fucking fine, thank—hic— _you!_ I could go all fuckin’ night! A-aAaah—tssscHhhk! Ss-ssstchu! Fuck…”  
“Matthew,” you said with genuine concern, “You should stop drinking. All of you should; it’s stopping time.”  
“You don’t gh—get to tell me whatta do, you hoser!” he preached to you with waggling finger and drooping eyelids. “I khh…I—“ And he was interrupted by a text message, and almost immediately started to cry. “Ivaaaan…I should call Ivan and tell h-him to come over, eh?”  
“No, you shouldn’t,” you said, snatching up the phone before he could dial. A sudden thump and rising of couch cushions alerted you to the eager man-wrestling taking place beside you.  
After nearly getting crushed by Alistair and Alfred, you watched in fear as Matthew declared it a neat idea to play foothockeyball, and booked it up the stairs. Upon leaving, you heard him suggest baskiceball. You didn’t want to know.  
You passed the bathroom and Alfred’s bedroom, pausing briefly to reflect on the beautiful sight of Francis watching over a passed-out Arthur, and sat against the wall outside of a guest room. A crash sounded downstairs, followed by a roar of outbursts. This had gotten very uncomfortable.  
“Y’alreih’, love?”  
You were surprised you hadn’t heard him stumbling up the stairs, now as he loomed over you with a hand on the wall for support, frame limp. “I’m not the one who’s sloshed, here.”  
“Ah-haha, ah sup-pose yer righ’.” He muffled a hiccup, eyes out of focus as he looked down at you. “Ere ye no’ havin’ fun aneymoor, dear? Wan’ go home?”  
“I don’t think you’d even make it to the car.”  
His eyes slid lazily from you to the guest room. “Ah coul’ make it tae a bed.”  
“Is this still you trying to have sex with me?”  
“D’ye stell _wan--_ hic _\--t_ ‘a have sex wi’ you—sssex wi’ me?”  
Well…  
“Well…”  
“Well wha’? D’ye wan’ y er no’?” He offered you a hand, about a foot off from where he should have held it, and you stood up, chuckling.  
“On one condition: after tonight, no more parties at Alfred’s.”  
“Reigh’ sure. Cam’ on, let’s go.” He stumbled into the room with your hand in his, falling gracelessly onto the mattress of the spare bed. “Whoaaaa, the ceilin’s spinnin’…”  
“You sure you shouldn’t just sleep and I’ll drive you home in the morning? Whoa—“  
He had pulled you down on top of him and begun drunkenly kissing your neck, squeezing at your breasts with a childish enjoyment. “Dinnae wan’a sleep!”  
“O-ohkay…mmh…point taken.”  
And just as you let yourself start to get into it, you heard a bit of stumbling and mumbling, and Sam said, “GodAlfredyou’resohot…mmh…”  
But it wasn’t Alfred who replied; it was Matthew. “We shouldn’t, Sam, I have a boyfriend…mmmh…god…AH!”  
“Wh—“  
Alistair beat you to investigation, nearly running into a wall on the way. When he came back in, leaning on the doorframe, he explained, “They jis’ fell down ‘e stairs. Not all the way. They’s still w—hic—winchin’, if ye can’ belie’e ‘em! Ah thenk Alfred’s sent a picture to Ivan…”  
“Poor Sam,” you muttered.  
Alistair didn’t hear you; he was too busy trying to get back to the bed, having to rely much on the wall for support. “Cannae feckin’ walk—ah-ha…wait, ah’v got et…”  
Again he flopped onto the bed, looking up at you with a goofy grin. “Yer so sexy.”  
You combed your fingers through his hair. “You’re just drunk.”  
“Nooo, ‘s true though!” he insisted. “I wan’a…wan’a do ssso many things tae you righ’ now. Och…my god. Kiss me. Fuck, kiss me righ’ now.”  
Chuckling, you bent down to kiss him, clearly tasting the drink and smoke on his pierced tongue. “You’re probably the most interesting guy I’ve ever been with.”  
“Mmm, yah, quit talkin’ and jis’ get yer clothes off.”


	6. Kissed A Girl

“Ah…sweetheart?”  
Of course the sound of a female voice beside you in bed would startle you, seeing as your current partner was male. You froze up, but curiosity held at bay your urge to spring out of possible danger. “Who--?”  
“Et’s me…I… _what_ the fack?” You heard this confused Scottish woman sit up in bed and you turned, slowly, to behold a gorgeous and full feminine figure with pale, freckled skin covered by thick red tresses. She regarded her fragile digits with wonder, next looking down at her bare breasts. She took a start, covering up and blushing darkly. “Whit the hell is this!”  
“Alistair?”  
She turned her head to you and nodded, thick brownish eyebrows drawn over her green eyes. Slowly, she uncovered her freckled breasts and cupped them in her hands to survey them. “Och, my god. Look at these. They’re huge! They’re bigger’n yers, sure!”  
“Yes, thank you,” you sneered. This was still so strange. The warm morning sun through the windows felt far too real for this to be a dream…as did the heat beginning to stir between your thighs at the sight of Alistair’s very large breasts. “How the hell are you a girl?”  
“Excuse ye, girls dinnae come this large.” She winked and lifted her breasts up and down for emphasis. “Ah’m a woman.”  
“S-s--cut that out.” You were staring. How indecent.  
“Et’s no’ like ye’ve no’ got a pair yerself!” she exclaimed, still clearly excited and confused by this mysterious happening. She continued to mess with her chest, quickly crossing her legs under the sheets with eyes wide open. “Oh god, is tha’ what et’s like?”  
“What what’s like?” you asked, crossing your own legs.  
“Gettin’ aroused when yoo’re…a lass…how th’ fuck did this happen?”  
You sat up, rigid, and watched as your newfound girlfriend began to explore her body. She cupped her breasts again, running both hands down her smooth white stomach with awe. She dipped a careful finger into her naval cavity, chuckling softly. Then her hands disappeared under the blankets. You watched the shape of her knee rise, your eyes following the bulge of her hand feeling her leg from thigh to ankle. Then the hand disappeared, and after a few seconds’ wait, Alistair(e?) drew a sharp gasp, freckled cheeks going a shade more red.  
“God, yes…”  
That was quick.  
“A-Alis…Allie? Yeah that’s good…wh-what are you doing?”  
“Gohd. Whit’s it look like. Nnh…” She bit her lip, long black eyelashes fluttering closed over her eyes as the motion of her arm under the sheets became noticeable. A slick, wet rhythm quickly caught your ear and your face flushed, eyes fixated on your partner. Her breasts moved with the rhythm and you very much began to feel the need to mimic her. “Ach…god! It’s so d-iffer’nt…still so-oh good…” She looked over at you with lust-lazed eyes, the tip of a pink tongue slipping through her lips as she surveyed your body language. “Ah can see yoo’re enjoyin’ this as well. Woul’ ye like te come o’er here an’ help me ou’?”  
For one second, the thought did not stick in your mind. As soon as it did, your head went instantly fuzzy, and your entire body heated up. You shook your head to clear it and tried to process what was going on. As the pieces matched up in your head, everything just felt so implausible, but it all ended up in this fact: you were about to have sex with a well-endowed female version of your already incredibly hot Scottish boyfriend.  
Her eyes lingered on you, hand slowing, but she quickly refocused her attention on the act at hand. Propped up by one elbow, Allie leaned back, tilted toward as though on display. With the gentle help of her lower arm, the soft folds of the bedsheets slipped lower, allowing you audience to her smooth hipbones and the flexing knuckles of her right hand as she pleasured herself. A high gasp inflated her chest and as her head tipped back, the carnelian curls of her hair spilled out against the white pillows. Instinctually, you sat up more, angling your body toward this magnificent display, practically hovering over her to watch. Your eyes and ears craved to watch her come at her own hand, and to see her pink lips open in orgasmic satisfaction, to see her green eyes flutter wide and her white, curvaceous body arch into the invisible pleasure enveloping and surrounding her. The cracked cry that stroked your ear stirred heat in the bottom of your stomach, and only now did you realize you were leaning right over her face, your thighs straddling her waist. Tongue flexing in her open mouth, she chuckled through the curved edges of a smile, eyelids dropping halfway. One eyebrow arched, and her hands rested at the tops of your thighs.  
“This as excitin’ fer you as it is fer me?”   
“Allie, I don’t know what happened…”  
“Nor do I.”  
“I don’t really care right now.”  
“That’s a good lass.” One freckled arm bent around your neck and pulled you down and when you kissed, it was with all of Alistair’s passion but with the womanly seduction of this new and wonderful form.  
“Mmh, nnn…”  
“Sweetheart, touch me,” she whispered, desperation and curiosity shining in her eyes. You obeyed eagerly, hands reaching out to brush the stray red hairs away from her smooth white face and then down her speckled shoulders. Her face quickly grew bored and annoyed so your hands rushed to the dappled hills of her chest and squeezed, slowly, gently, but very firmly. She began with an approving “Mmm” and as your grip increased, the sound took on a tone of surprise. Between your thumb and the knuckle of your forefinger on each hand, you pinched her two hardened pink nubs, watching her mewl beneath you.  
Her hips rocked upward, lower belly meeting the junction of your clothed hips. You gasped, letting out a shaking breath as Allie’s hands gripped you more tightly. You kissed her chuckling lips, grinding your hips against hers while continuing your attention to her breasts. Your hands could not handle the entirety of each at once, and the thought of their immensity added to the heat in your lower stomach. A needy whine left you as you kissed down her jaw and buried your blushing face in her neck, biting at the skin.  
“Nnnh,” she purred. One of her hands slid down to your knee and lifted it, her leg passing under to the other side. You pushed your knee up between her thighs, applying a teasing nudge before pulling back. She growled, just as roughly as she would in her natural form, and slammed her thigh up into your angle. You jolted forward, wincing a bit. “Dinnae tease me t’day. It won’ end well.”  
You nodded, not about to challenge that tone. “Yes, ma’am.” You bit and sucked at her neck until a satisfying love bite appeared. Leaning back, you slowly drew your hands away from Allie’s breasts and brushed them down her sides. One hand stayed on her waist while you took one finger over her left hipbone.  
“Ah, mmm…”  
She squirmed, thighs closing around your knee. You chuckled, burying your fingertips in the curly red hair between her legs. She gasped loudly when your middle finger touched her aroused clitoris.  
“Yes, yes! Ah!”  
Now you were the simpering one, as you rubbed and pressed and pinched her clit in all the best ways. If you slid your finger this way, she would tense up, and if you pinched the very tip with the pads of your fingers she would loose a wavering moan. All of her noises began to get you very, very worked up and very, very wet, and even through her pleasured haze Allie did not miss your needy squirm. Her leg rose and pressed into your arousal. You fought the urge to rut against her knee, and as you struggled to keep your attention on pleasuring her, she grabbed your breasts through your night shirt.  
“Aye, there’s my good, submissive lassie.” She handled your breasts so skillfully, with a type of finesse that was lost to Alistair. As with everything else, it was new and immensely exciting, and very distracting. You found yourself rubbing against her knee for pleasure and she pushed right back, while one of her hands pushed on yours to remind you to keep going. Yet when your fingers began their dance again, Allie held her moans. Her face grew deeper and darker red with the effort, but she kept her control, pleasuring you right back with her knee and her hands. In one move she straightened her leg, took an arm around your shoulder and flipped you onto your back, tabled over you with a smirk. She drove her knee against your clothed crotch while your fingers faltered to finish her. Both of her hands had now left your breasts, each one wrapped around one of your wrists as she pulled your hands up over your head, stretching her body out over you in the process and leaving her mottled boobs in your direct line of sight. That got you throbbing.  
“Allie! Al-Allie st-o-op…oh, fuck…” This curse had been brought on by her domineering chuckle as her milky hips dipped down toward yours, and one of her hands left both of yours in the grip of one as she reached down to pull away your shorts and panties. The smooth skin of her knee pressed into your hot, wet heat and you gasped, craning your neck to take a bite at one of her breasts.  
She gasped now, shuddering and jerking. “God! Ach, yes, dae tha’ again…”  
And so you did, dipping your head up again and again to bite, to lick, and to suck at her large breasts, leaving red bitemarks all over them. You managed to get one of your arms free when her grip slackened, and pushed down on her upper back until your face was right within her breasts, the skin smooth against each of your red and hot cheeks.  
You kissed and nuzzled her valley, earning very soft and appreciative moans and sighs while she pleasured you still. Her free hand joined in, slipping between your folds with electrifying deftness. With your hand, you caressed the side of her right breast and brushed your thumb over the quickly hardening nipple before taking the bud into your mouth and sucking.  
“Mm-hmmm!” she gasped, pausing at the suckling sensation while your hand went back between her legs, fingers disappearing once more into her fiery curls. This time you penetrated her, first with one finger but then very soon with a second, scissoring the digits slowly. The pleasure she inflicted upon you came to a slow-down as she adjusted to the new sensation, face screwed up in a spot of discomfort. Twisting your wrist, you hooked your fingers inside her, brushing up toward her belly. “Aa-ah! Wh-why does tha’ feel so good?” she breathed.  
You didn’t answer, continuing to abuse her g-spot and slyly adding a third finger. Your mouth and face still lavished care on her beautiful breasts, all the combined stimulation enough to make Allie release your wrist. Instead she used this hand for support, trying to win over your sexual hunger once again with her other hand, knee still rubbing idly against your vulva.  
Her hips pushed down on your hand, and you helped out, pushing your fingers in to the knuckles. She gasped brokenly, and your mouth traveled upward to the little section of her collarbone that was Alistair’s weak spot. From the tight clenching around your fingers, you concluded that this spot was still effective. Your thumb ran over her clit again and again, a quick sweep over the front and then a slow draw back over. Allie’s moans grew deeper, and her fiddling fingers grew less determined. It wasn’t long before you had her on her back, begging you for a fourth finger.  
You worked your pinky finger into her, lifting one of her beautifully toned legs over your thighs. As you thrust your fingers in and out of her tight heat, you pressed your pelvis against your knuckles for more force, sighing at the inadvertent pleasure it gave you.  
The redhead began to quiver, abandoning every previously suppressed moan into the heated air. She was very, very close. You removed your fingers. “Wh--! No, no, no let me come!”  
“H-hang on, I’m going to,” you promised, slipping one leg over the one of hers still on the bed. The heat of your burning sex mingled with that of hers as you controlled your advance with a racing heart. The instant your hips met, you both cried in relief and pleasure, and you started up a rhythm while leaning down into a greedy kiss. Your clothed breasts brushed and pushed against hers in the course of your rutting and rubbing together, and before she could warn you, she came for the second time.  
Her moans built on each other, the bucking of her hips spurring you on to your open-mouthed, throbbing orgasm, the two of you keeping the quick rhythm as long as the pleasure would stay.  
You let yourself relax on top of her, kissing her neck and ear with one hand brushing through her hair. “Alistair. Who knew you would be this hot as a woman?”  
“Well ah would’a known, ef ah’d thought of et,” she panted, chest heaving with a chuckle. “As much as ah hope this won’ be permanent…ah’ll admit to enjoyin’ this _very_ much.”  
“Man! Me too.” Already, you were recovering.  
Allie wrapped her arms around your waist, kissing your lips and tightening the press of her body against yours. “Well, assumin’ this _is_ a temporary thing,” she purred seductively, “why don’ we make the most of it, aye?”


End file.
